Honky-Tonk Blues
by Jenksel
Summary: Jacob and Jenkins do a little bonding as only a brawler and a knight can.


The inner mechanism of the back door began to quietly spin inside its globe-setting, and the doors swung expectantly open. For a few seconds, nothing else happened, then a dark, tousled head with a freshly acquired black eye very tentatively poked its way through the portal and looked around quickly for any sign of potential witnesses. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Jacob Stone entered the Annex, waving excitedly behind him as he beckoned for someone to follow.

"Come on, man!" he urged in a loud whisper. "Hurry up!" Almost immediately, a second figure darkened the pale-blue light of the back door, and the much larger outline of Jenkins the Caretaker soon stumbled through the double-doors.

The two men were in a sorry state. Jacob's green and black checked flannel shirt was torn, one knee of his worn blue jeans ripped open and stained with blood from the badly scraped kneecap underneath it. His eye was just beginning to swell and purple, and he had various cuts and scrapes to his hands and arms, particularly the knuckles of his right hand.

Jenkins was in even worse shape. Normally an immaculate dresser, his clothes were now in total disarray, his expensive dark blue merino wool suit missing an entire sleeve and the matching trousers torn and dirty. His pale-yellow silk bow tie was missing, too, as were several buttons from his blood-spattered dress shirt and cream-colored waistcoat.

The most alarming part of the Caretaker's appearance, though, was the ugly line of injuries that crossed his face. An ugly gash began just above his right eye, crossed diagonally over the bridge of his now-broken nose and down to his bloodied mouth. Half-dry blood covered his bruising face and was still oozing slowly from the gash over his eye, his nose and his mouth.

"Come on, let's get you to the infirmary before anyone sees us," growled Jake, slinging the unsteady Jenkins's arm over his shoulder to help him walk. They hurried through the corridors of the Annex to the small infirmary, Jenkins stumbling alongside the historian.

They made it to their destination without being seen, much to Jake's relief. Baird was going to freak when she saw them; he and Jenkins needed some time to coordinate their stories. He helped the larger man onto an exam table and then hurried to get some hot water, cotton, disinfectant, cloths and bandages. As he began to wash off the blood and clean out the immortal's wounds, the younger man grimaced when he saw the full extent of his injuries.

"How bad is it, Mr. Stone?" he asked, wincing as Jake carefully probed the various wounds. Stone shook his head.

"Well, one thing's for sure, man—you ain't pretty no more!" he joked. When he saw that Jenkins wasn't amused by the quip, he became serious again.

" _Damn_ , Jenkins!" he muttered as he worked. "We shoulda gone to a hospital; I think that gash over your eye's gonna need stitchin' up." Jenkins grunted noncommittally.

"If it does, I'm perfectly capable to doing it myself," he said. "It wouldn't be the first time, nor, I suspect, will it be the last." Stone chuckled and wrung out the cloth he was using, the water in the basin rapidly turning bright red.

"Man, did you see the look on that dude's face when he hit you with that pool cue?!" the Librarian enthusiastically recalled as he worked. "He was expectin' ya to hit the floor like a sack of taters, and all ya did was turn back and look at 'im with that 'Jenkins glare' of yours! _Man_! The look on that guy's face was _priceless_! I wish to _God_ I had video of that!" Jake pumped a fist in the air with unrestrained glee as he re-lived that moment of the evening. He then caught the baleful glare Jenkins was directing at him with his one good eye, the other having swollen completely shut by now, and Stone contritely reigned in his excitement.

"Thanks for takin' that hit for me, by the way," he mumbled as he resumed trying to patch up the Caretaker's face. "That guy woulda split my skull open if ya hadn't." Somewhat mollified, Jenkins took a deep breath and dropped his gaze.

"It's perfectly all right, Mr. Stone," he said. "I'm only glad that I was there to do so. I shudder to think what kind of condition you would be in right now if you hadn't talked me into going…what did you call it again?"

"'Honky-tonkin'," Jake said. Jenkins nodded his pounding head slightly, wincing in pain.

"Yes, 'honky-tonkin'," he finished. "A rather more energetic experience than I was expecting, I must say. Do all such forays into Midwestern public houses end in fights like that?"

"Only the best ones, brother!" Jake said brightly with a wink. The immortal flinched involuntarily as Jacob began to examine his broken nose.

"Then please remind me never to accept an invitation to go 'honky-tonkin'' with you ever again!" he gasped as tears began building in his eyes. " _Please_ , Mr. Stone! _Gently_!" Jacob gave the suffering man an apologetic look.

"Sorry, J," he said. "Your nose got busted up pretty good, but I think I can reset it for ya. You ready?" The older man tightly grasped the edge of the exam table to brace himself and took a deep breath, then nodded. Stone prepared himself, then, without warning, quickly snapped the broken nose back into place. The immortal's bellow of sheer agony bounced off of the infirmary walls.

"There ya go, J!" Stone said cheerfully as he stood back and admired his work. "Good as new! Soon as that heals up ya won't ever be able to tell it was ever broken!" Jenkins cast a tear-filled glare at the Librarian.

"Huzzah!" he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Jake gave him a thumb's up.

"Right?" the Librarian said with satisfaction in a job well done, then the young man's face became serious again.

"Listen, J...I, um... Thanks for the pep talk you were givin' me before all this stuff happened," Stone said uncomfortably as he absentmindedly scratched the back of his head. Jenkins took a deep breath and raised his head slightly, fixing his good eye on the younger man.

"I meant every word of it, Mr. Stone," he said firmly. "You are _not_ responsible for what happened in the other timeline—not to the Library, not to the others, and certainly not to me. _Miss Noone_ was the sole responsible party. She tricked and manipulated _all_ of us." He adjusted his seat on the exam table, grimacing a bit at the movement. Jacob roughly rubbed his stubbled jaw in agitation.

"If I hadn't read those scrolls, though..." He brought his bloodied fist down on the exam table in frustration and regret. "Damned magic!" he spat angrily. "It's nuthin' but trouble! It brings _nuthin'_ but trouble, and pain, and disaster, and...and...I'm sorry, Jenkins, for everything that happened over there! I wish to God I could take it all back!" Silence fell between the two men for a few minutes. Jenkins broke it, his voice quiet.

"If you'll recall, I _ordered_ you to read the text that would enable me to transfer my immortality to Miss Noone. I did that of my own free will, Mr. Stone. And as for the First Book—you thought you were doing something good, it wasn't out of malice or carelessness. Not even I had any idea what the scroll contained or how it could affect us." He stretched out a long arm and laid his hand on the historian's shoulder.

"I've had this same conversation with several of the others, Mr. Stone. _Everyone_ takes responsibility for what happened to us in the other timeline, myself included. But the truth is that there is plenty of so-called blame to go around. No one person is at fault, except for Miss Noone. I firmly believe that. And don't forget, Mr. Stone, we all _have_ been given a second chance, thanks to Mr. Carsen and Colonel Baird. We _do_ get to 'take it all back', as you put it. We _all_ have a chance to do things over, hopefully with better outcomes this time." Jacob shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Then why do I _feel_ responsible, huh?" he asked gruffly, looking the injured immortal in the eye. "Why do I _feel_ like I'm responsible for you losing your immortality over there? Why do I _feel_ responsible for bringin' about the Trial of the One? Why do I _feel_ responsible for you gettin' killed?" Jenkins gave him a wry, tiny smile, the pain in his mouth not allowing for anything larger.

"Because you are a good man, Jacob Stone," he said gently. "Because you care about your friends and you want to protect us." He gently squeezed the Librarian's shoulder. "Because you love us."

"Yeah, well," muttered Jake, unconvinced, and looked away. Jenkins smiled again as he gave the young man a pat and removed his hand from Stone's shoulder.

"You know, Mr. Stone, you remind me of a very good friend I had once, a very long time ago," he said companionably. "My _only_ real friend in those days, in fact. He was also a young man with a fiery, passionate temperament. He also had a fondness for poetry—though, of course, his knowledge wasn't nearly as extensive or impressive as your own. He was also brave, intelligent, loyal. A highly skilled warrior who was greatly feared on the battlefield. He always sought to do the right thing, the honorable thing, just as you do. And he was also absolutely devoted to his friends, almost to a fault." The Caretaker's voice became wistful as he remembered his friend.

"He accepted people for who they are, just as you do," he continued, looking pointedly at Jacob. "The other knights tended to hold me at arm's length, due to my low birth, but not him. He cared not a whit about things like that; it was only a person's character that mattered to him. Just as it does with you." Stone looked up at the older man as his words sank in.

"The other knights?" he asked, confused. Jenkins nodded.

"My friend's name was Percival. _Sir_ Percival, a fellow knight of the Round Table. He's been gone a long time now, but I still miss him, very much," he said, his voice suddenly sad and pensive. He roused himself from the threatening melancholy. "As I said earlier, you remind me of him a great deal, Mr. Stone." A small, embarrassed smile spread over Jake's face as he looked away from the old Caretaker for a moment and then back again.

"So, uh...are you sayin'..." he stuttered shyly. "You sayin' _I_ coulda been a knight? Of the Round Table?" The older man raised his silver head as he answered, choosing his words carefully.

"King Arthur would've been very proud to call you one of his knights, Mr. Stone," Jenkins said sincerely. "Just as Percival would've been very proud to call you his friend. Just as _I_ am very proud to call you _my_ friend." Stone ducked his head and swallowed against a lump that suddenly formed in his throat, but not before the ancient knight caught the look of elation and pride that glowed in the young man's eyes.

Before the Librarian could respond, the infirmary's door burst open and Colonel Eve Baird rushed into the room, her gun drawn and ready. Cassandra Cillian Jenkins was close behind her, a multi-colored umbrella clutched in her hands like a club.

"Stone! Jenkins! What're you two doing here? We thought we heard someone screaming, are you…" The Guardian fell silent as she took in the sight of the two injured men. The gun dropped to her side as her mouth fell open. Beside her, Cassandra dropped the umbrella as her hands flew up to cover her mouth in horror.

"Stone? Jenkins?" Baird repeated, her tone more shocked this time. " _Stone?! Jenkins?!_ What the hell happened to you?!" Holstering her weapon, she rushed forward to assess their injuries, Cassandra right behind her.

" _Jenkins_! Your face!" the redhead gasped. She hurried over to her husband and began examining his injuries, little sounds of distress slipping out of her every few seconds. She turned to face Stone.

"What happened?" she demanded of him, her brow furrowing.

"Well, um…funny story, actually, Cassie," said Jacob, laughing nervously. "I finally talked ol' Jenkins here into comin' out bar-hoppin' with me, and we, uh, sorta got into a little bit of a scuffle at one place with some bikers…"

"Bikers!?" squeaked Cassandra, her eyes bugging out of her head. Jake nodded uneasily. Eve looked away from Jenkins for a moment to shoot Stone a withering look.

"What _kind_ of bikers?" she barked suspiciously. Stone looked anxiously at Jenkins as he rubbed the back of his neck, stalling for time as he tried to think of way to make things sound less serious than they were.

" _Stone_..." she repeated menacingly. The Librarian threw his hands wildly into the air in surrender.

"Okay! They were _outlaw_ bikers! Hell's Angels, okay? They were Hell's Angels!" he exclaimed loudly. "But _they_ started it!"

Cassandra's head whipped around to stare at Jenkins. " _Hell's Angels_?!" she gasped incredulously, unable to even picture the usually staid Caretaker in anything so seedy as a bar fight with bikers. Jenkins looked down sheepishly.

"You shoulda seen 'im, Cass!" Jake exclaimed, unable to restrain himself. "'Specially when this one Hell's Angel clocked 'im with a pool cue, right across the face! But he was pumped so full of adrenaline by that point ol' Jenkins hardly flinched, man! Just made a big ol' fist and pimp-slapped that dude clear across the room!"

" _A pool cue_?!" both women echoed at once, turning to look wide-eyed again at the Caretaker. Jenkins shot Stone a one-eyed 'you're not helping' glare.

"Yes, well...As Mr. Stone was saying, _they_ were the instigators of the fracas," he started to explain, but the Caretaker suddenly squawked loudly in pain as Cassandra grabbed his lower jaw and pulled his mouth open.

"Oh, my God, _Jenkins_!" she gasped, alarm setting in as she stared at two empty, bloody spaces in his jaw. "You're…you're missing _TEETH_!" She whirled around to face Jacob, anger blazing in her blue eyes.

"Jacob Stone, how could you let this happen?!" she shouted, her fury building. "How could let him get into a fight with a bunch of bikers?! Why did you take him to one of those sleazy bars in the first place?!" Jacob raised his hands and backed away from the enraged mathematician.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, now, Cassie!" he said defensively. "Jenkins is a big boy, he can totally make his own decisions about anything he wants…"

"HE'S MISSING TEETH, JACOB!" she shrieked, then launched herself at the seemingly unconcerned brawler. " _And just look at his face!_ " Eve and Jenkins both scrambled to keep the two apart, Eve stepping protectively in front of Stone and Jenkins grabbing his very angry wife from behind. As Cassandra struggled to get at Jacob, one hand flew back and accidentally struck the tall man right on his injured, hypersensitive nose.

Jenkins howled with pain and released her, his large hands covering his face as he bent over double in agony. The pathetic sound of his voice drew Cassandra's attention away from Jake and refocused it completely onto her husband. She rushed to his side and began to rub his broad back soothingly as she tried to comfort him.

"Oh, Jenkins! Sweetheart! I'm so sorry! Are you all right? I didn't hurt your nose more, did I?" she fretted, gently trying to pull his hands away from his face. Eve came over and helped her, and when they finally got his hands down and pulled him upright again, the ex-soldier examined the old knight's injured face.

"I see some ugly cuts and bruises, but your nose looks ok, Skip." The tall blonde heaved a deep sigh. "That cut over your eye could use a couple of stitches. Don't know what to tell you about the teeth, though." Jenkins waved away her concern.

"The teeth will grow back," he said faintly, the pain in his face subsiding to a dull pounding. All three gaped at him.

"They will?!" squeaked Cassandra. He nodded his large white head tiredly.

"They will. It'll take several weeks, but they _will_ grow back." He stood up and reached out a shaky hand, laying it on her arm as he tried to reassure her.

"Do you really think this is the first time I've lost some teeth in a bar fight, my dear?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Although in my day we referred to it as 'carousing' rather than 'honky-tonkin', and I am most definitely too old for this sort of thing anymore by whatever name it goes by..." He sucked in a sharp breath and groaned involuntarily as a flash of pain shot through his head. Cassandra instantly laid her small hand gently on an undamaged part of his face, worry and sympathy filling her eyes.

"Come on, sweetie, let's get you into bed," she said, taking his hand in hers and leading him toward the door. "I'll find some of that healing potion you always use on me when I'm hurt; it'll fix you right up!" Jenkins obediently followed her, hobbling on a twisted ankle; as they passed Eve and Jacob, Cassandra shot the historian an evil look that actually sent a shiver up his spine.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, then gave the immortal a light, comradely punch on his upper arm with a fist. "Hang tough, brother!" he said. Cassandra whirled around and glared at him again. Stone exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders in a questioning gesture; the redhead pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes in response before she turned her attention back to her injured mate.

"Hey, Jenkins!" Jake called out suddenly before the pair left the infirmary. The immortal stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Mr. Stone?"

"Do ya think that, maybe, sometime...ya know...when you're feelin' better...maybe we could get together again and you can tell me some stories? 'Bout you and Percival, and the other knights? Camelot...?" the young man asked, feeling unsure and self-conscious. He saw a smile light up Jenkins's good eye.

"I would enjoy that very much, Jacob," he said warmly. "Though, please—no more honky-tonks?" Stone laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, man, no more honky-tonks," he promised fervently. "I'll just chill us a six-pack in the Fountain of Youth—nice and quiet and safe!"

"Excellent!" the knight agreed. "Until then..." He laid a hand on his breast and bowed slightly in farewell before he turned and let Cassandra lead him to their quarters. The Guardian and Stone could hear Jenkins's low voice fade down the hallway as he quietly tried to assure his anxious wife that he was fine while she fussed over him and his injuries.

"Come on, Stone," said Baird crisply, grabbing the Librarian's injured hand and the disinfectant. "Now that the testosterone level has thinned a little in here, why don't you get up on this table and explain to me what the hell happened this evening while I take care of these knuckles? And don't leave out a single juicy detail!"


End file.
